


Midnight Fireworks

by courfelicious



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Like LOTS of angst, M/M, Some Humor, because i mention a bunch of other characters lol, there are more people but i'm only tagging those with a actual lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:34:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5972095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courfelicious/pseuds/courfelicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis and Arthur spend the New Year’s Eve together, in one way or another, over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> This was my present for @libbubles from tumblr in the frukgiftexchange of 2016~ Also a huge THANK YOU for my Betta @of-pasta-and-potatoes who, as always, save my life. You're a darling Reh <3

V.

There had been a lot of noise coming from downstairs, but Arthur still refused to go down and meet the guests, or to come out from under his favourite green blanket. Indeed, he had absolutely no intention whatsoever of doing either of these things, and no pledging from his mother or threatening from his father had been able to change his mind.

It had been Christmas Eve, just after dinner, when his parents told him and his siblings that some American friends of theirs would be coming over at New Year’s Eve to spend the night with them. More than that though, and more importantly, they’d bought fireworks and would be throwing them that night!

Now, at first, Arthur had been fairly happy to hear that. He had never seen fireworks alive, but from what he had seen on the telly the boy had been pretty excited. That is, until his older brothers and sister had started teasing the poor five year old and telling the kid about horrible accidents people had suffered involving said explosives.

In the beginning, however, Arthur hadn’t been too inclined to believe them. His siblings often tried to take advantage of his naivety, so he wouldn’t have been surprised if all that talk turned out to be just one more of their stupid jokes.

Except early that morning they had made some tests, just to see if everything was in order, and with the loud noises, the little boy decided it might be better not to risk it. Just in case.

From that point on, no amount of talking, bribing, daring or threatening was able to change his mind, hard headed that the boy was.

“Sourcils?”, asked a heavily accented voice. As Arthur looked up, his eyes met silk wavy hair framing a pair of bright blue eyes, which were looking curiously right back at him from the ajar door of his room. “What are you doing up here?”

“I-It’s none of your business!”, shouted the little boy, tightening his grip on the blanket for good measure. He didn’t like this kid. He was older than him (about Alasdair’s age so Very Old), talked funny and liked to mess with him just as much as his siblings. And that’s not even mentioning the nick names - he wasn’t sure of what “sourcils” actually meant, but could bet it wasn’t anything nice by the tone of mockery it was usually used with.

Besides, he had gotten along perfectly fine with Arthur’s siblings from the moment he’d moved into the house next door, just some months ago - And no friends of Alasdair, Dylan or Daimhin could be trusted.

“Well, I suppose from up here the view of the fireworks is indeed better.”, the older boy pondered, stepping in on the room and letting the door close with a “ban” behind him. As Arthur visibly stiffened at the sound, the other one raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you’re not afraid of them, are you?”

No answer was needed though, for right that moment the first firework of the night exploded and, as the loud noise reached their ears, Arthur covered his head with the blanket in fear. Francis’ eyes softened at the sight, endeared.

The little English boy from the next house was a tiny, mischievous devil, it’s true, and yet he couldn’t help seeing the kid as the little brother he’d never had, specially when the other was four years his junior. How could he make fun of him when the poor boy was already so scared? Now, that would have been just cruel.

So instead, without saying a word, he walked towards the bed. Sitting behind the other kid, Francis carefully wrapped his arms around Arthur’s trembling small frame as the fireworks' colourful lights danced around the room.

During the following days, as his siblings incessantly made fun of their younger brother’s behaviour during that night, Francis, for once, didn’t join. Arthur was secretly grateful.

For everything.

 

IV.

Arthur huffed under his breath, respiration condensing in the brisk cold air of the night. Hands in his pockets, he kicked a stone from the jaywalk, while deliberately ignoring his mother’s disapproving gaze.

The Bonnefoy’s had decided to throw a huge New Year’s party that year, inviting the whole neighbourhood (and half of London as well, it seemed) to commemorate the passage with them. The Kirklands, of course, as their next door neighbours, had also been urged to come - as if they would have ever dreamt to miss it. 

The Kirklands and Bonnefoys had developed a quite passive aggressive rivalry in the late few years, with seeming no limits. It had started with hosted dinners, extended itself to whom had the best garden, and so on. And while most of the kids seemed to get along fairly well, the same could not be said about Francis and the Kirkland’s youngest son, Arthur, whose truce was even worse than their parents, for some reason. The boys couldn’t stand each other, being seemingly incapable of spending more than a few minutes together before starting to bicker and tease one another - sometimes it even escalating to a physical fight.

The Kirklands had decided to attend the party because it was the polite thing to do and because they had been looking forward to trash talk it later. They had also decided they must all go, no exceptions, and no amount of pledging from Arthur’s side had been able to change their minds. He had argued that, at nine years old, he was already big enough to stay home alone, thank you very much, and that, besides, the party would be taking place just beside their own house anyway. It had been all to no avail, though.

And thus, an extremely unhappy Arthur Kirkland was dragged to the party and obligated to spend time making small talk with boring adults and politely declining to go play with the other kids from the neighbourhood when they asked about it, lying he didn’t feel too well. In truth, he just didn’t get along with most of them (and in all honesty, they weren’t too found of Arthur themselves either). The perspective of having to deal with Francis that night as well was just the icing on the top of his misery.

For most of the night, however, he had been able to avoid the French boy.

“Oh, look what we have here! A festive caterpillar!” teased a voice behind him. 

With a sight, he turned around. He should have know his luck had an expiration date, specially considering he was on the other boy’s own house.

“Bugger off Frog, I’m not in the mood tonight.”

Francis raised an eyebrow, visibly more interested then. Arthur cursed to himself.

“Why so grumpy, lapin? Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of fireworks!”, teased the older boy, a smug, knowing smile emerging from his lips as Arthur blushed heavily, refusing to say a word. “Oh God, you really are, aren’t you? Ah, you’re still such a kid after all… That’s so cute though. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you~”

And oh Arthur had been so ready to fight. The moment the words “cute” and “kid” and “afraid” left the other’s mouth his ire had emerged and quickly reached 100%. He had been ready to go off. That Frog had been a second from learning the lesson of his life.

Just then, however, the count down to midnight started, and Arthur couldn’t help but go completely still, the words dying on his tongue as fear took over his body. To his surprise, and successfully distracting him, a hand discretely held his own.

Racing heart, body rock still, he sneaked a look at the boy beside him. The one with the long blond hair flowing in the light breeze and the azure eyes ignoring the fireworks that had everybody else transfixed, just to look right back at him.

“Happy New Year, Sourcils”

“… Happy New Year, Frog”

 

III.

Arthur had no idea what he was doing at that party. Why he had let Alfred convince him to crash the Last year’s party was beyond him. If they got caught it would be the end of them, for sure. His parents would probably kill him, and his brothers turn his after life into hell.

It wasn’t that he was too stuck up to crash a party, too much of a mamma’s boy. If anything, he was more of a rebel than his American friend could ever dream to be, both from looks and attitude, but if one’s to crash a party that is obviously not meant for people their age, it’s better to do so where no one knows who you are, so there’s less of a chance of being recognized. Now, crashing a school party was just stupid.

At least there was booze. It was of pretty shitty quality,it's true, but it’s not like he would have been able to purchase any better himself. There wouldn’t be fireworks either. These were the only good things he could think about this situation from the top of his mind. The music was absolute crap - the top hits of the year mixed into electronic rhythms until they were beyond recognition and had all become pretty much the same - and Alfred had disappeared from his sight not half an hour after they arrival.

Oh, how he hated New Year parties…

And just when he thought things couldn’t get any more miserable, a familiar mid length blond hair appeared on his camp of vision, one that he could recognize anywhere, as well as those of his two best friends.

“Bonnefoy?”, he called, tongue already sloppy from the alcohol. He would later regret doing so, but as it was, he had already been too tipsy to properly ponder about his actions. “What are you doing here?”

A now 18 years old Francis turned around, frowning as he recognized his neighbour in his characteristics leather pants, band shirt, myriad of piercings and forest green died hair. A slow smirk emerged from his lips as surprise and confusion gave room to amusement, and he ditched António and Gilbert to walk toward his sweetest enemy, as he liked to refer to the English boy.

“Arthur?”, asked him back. He had stopped a bit too close for Arthur’s liking, but the music had indeed been way too loud for them to be able to converse at a bigger distance without shouting. That didn’t do much to comfort him though.“Why, I’m the one who should be asking that, you know, as it’s my classes’ party after all.”

“Oh”. Well, that did made sense. How could he have overlooked such and important detail he asked himself while damning Alfred’s bloody soul to hell. All of this was the American’s fault.

“What are you drinking? Is that alcohol? Aren’t you a bit too young for that?”, the French boy teased, his tone light. But the lines on his forehead gave his worry away.

“Fuck off! What are you, my mom?”

“No, but I do am older than you.”, Francis laughed, using the slow song that started playing as a cue to take the other boy’s waist and pull him closer, successfully distracting him enough to take his cup and put it away at the table beside them. “Where’s your respect to your elders?”

“Respect you? Ha! Don’t make me laugh, Bonnefoy. And just what do you think you’re doing?”, he asked, struggling to freed himself.

“Come on, mon Lapin, dance with me~”

“Hell no! Let go of me, Frog”, he struggled a bit more, though with very little effort, and eventually gave in, lifting his own arms to rest at the other's shoulders. He could feel himself blushing, but he hoped the other would either not take notice or blame the alcohol for it.

“I’m going to France next year you know.. For college.” Francis whispered in his ear after a while, breath thickening his neck “Are you going to miss me?”

Arthur’s body stiffened. He had known, obviously. The boy’s parents had boosted it to the whole street and whoever more had been whiling to hear. Alasdair had been complaining pretty often about it lately as well, saddened to loose one of his best friends.

As for Arthur himself, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Truth be told, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, really. The other boy had always talked about going back to his homeland, but he had never really thought of the possibility of the other going away for real. Francis had been in his life for so long then, it just felt strange, almost impossible, to imagine his life without his constant presence. Without their bickering, their fights.

Much like the perfumes he liked to wear, the French boy had infiltrated himself in such a way in Arthur’s life, that whenever he looked back, be it at good or bad memories, Francis seemed to be there somehow. If not him, something he had done, or a friend of his, or something that reminded the English boy of him.

“Oh.. I… well, of course not!! Why would I miss you anyway?

"I see… Well, I’ll miss you Arthur. I think I might even miss you a lot.

They finally stopped dancing, eyes never leaving one another as the people around them started to count the last seconds before the turning of the year. Despite being surrounded in all directions, somehow they felt as the only people in the room, their gaze shifting to each other’s slightest parted lips.

"You know… They say if people kiss at midnight on New Year’s eve, they have a good relationship during the next year”

“Bullshit… We’ve never had a good relationship”, Arthur scoffed, pulling himself closer, nonetheless. Tilting his head, eyes barely open.

“Them maybe we should start now”.

 

II.

The air was filled with laugh and angry, but warm, shouting - the way you only find in functional big families. There was just something extremely soothing in hearing Kiku’s cousins bickering among each other about the video-game they were currently playing, while the Japanese's older brother exasperated shouted from the kitchen, cmplaining about how nobody ever helped him. Maybe it was because he was also from a big family, having three siblings and everything, but it felt like home, except better, as they seemed to actually get along instead of play pretend.

Kiku looked at him apologetically after saying something particularly condescending to Mei. “I’m sorry about this mess.”

“It’s okay, love, I don’t mind.” He answered with a tiny laugh, kissing his boyfriend’s forehead and moving his hand to sooth his frowning “I mean it, we’re way worse back at mine's.”

The Japanese boy gave him a shy smile before going back to paying attention at the Mario Kart battle currently going on. Arthur made to go back to his book as well, but right then his mobile phone started ringing, startling him slightly.

He knew who it was before even answering it, and yet the photo and name at the screen still had him holding his breath for some seconds. Sensing the body beside him stiffen, Kiku turned to face his boyfriend, silently questioning, to what Arthur merely pointed at his device before getting up and going in the balcony’s direction to answer the phone with more privacy.

Kiku knew from the other’s body language that he had been distraught, but thought it would probably be better to let him alone for now.

“Hello Frog”

“Happy New Year Sourcils!! Is that fireworks I hear? I hope you’re not alone in your room all wrapped up in a blanket again, that would be such a pity!!”, said the voice coming from the speaker, more high pitched than he remembered because of the device. Arthur hated it. Still, when he rolled his eyes, a tiny smile formed on his lips.

“Oh do shut up, I’m at Kiku’s house”, he answered exasperatedly, closing the door behind him to smoother the shouting from the living room. “The noise is from some video-game they are playing.”

“Oh, I see~ I’m with Antoine right now. He’s doing a short exchange over here.”, said the other. The tone was light, but Arthur paid it no mind. He knew what Francis was doing. He knew, and he would not play along. He had Kiku, he was in a loving, happy relationship. He was happy. Still, it felt like a knife twisting in his guts,

“Yes I’ve heard.”

“We’re dating”, the tone was still light, but it felt dry, cold. He wasn’t telling Arthur the news, the English boy realized. He was merely stating a fact, remembering him because he knew it would hurt the other to hear the words from his month.

And yet it shouldn’t.

And he knew Francis cared about the brunet as well, because when Arthur himself had dated the Spanish boy, he had received all sorts of warnings and threatening from a worried Frenchman terrified that he would end up hurting one of his best friends.

(What he didn’t know was that António had also received the same treatment, except much harsher.)

So why did he do this? Why did he call and said these things to stir jealousy on Arthur when he was supposedly in a happy relationship himself and truly cared for his boyfriend? He would have questioned the other’s behaviour if he didn’t already know the answer.

It was for the same reason why it worked. Why they would always call each other on the New Year’s Eve, no matter what, no matter where, since Francis had gone back to his home country. The same reason he had called to tell the other when he had gotten with Kiku.

“What’s your wish this year Arthur?”, Francis asked again after a while of silence, voice soothing again.

“It’s none of your fucking business”, he answered, hanging up on the other’s face. And oh, didn’t that feel good.

And he shouldn’t feel bitter. Francis had had several boyfriends and girlfriends over the years. And so had him.

But still, he did. And he hated, hated it.

 

I. (Make a Wish)

They stood side by side, looking over at the marvellous scenery that was Paris from above at night, specially on New Year’s Eve. And even more when you were at such a privileged spot like the Eiffel Tower.

They didn’t dare look away, to look at each other. Arthur’s hands gripped the parapet for dear life and, despite it being extremely cold that night, he could feel the sweat in them.

“This is terribly romantic, don’t you think, mon lapin?”, the other said, laughing to himself. It wasn’t a happy laugh, however. More like self depreciating, bitter-sweet.

“The irony hasn’t escaped me, no.”, he answered with a dramatic roll of eyes, but his croaky voice still gave his nerves away.

“Arthur…”, the Frenchman started, suddenly holding his hand and turning to him, in a spurt of confidence.

Startled, Arthur turned to the other as well, finally looking at the struggling cheff’s blue, blue eyes, full of infinite sadness and hope and fear and love.

And he never felt so deeply for someone as he felt for Francis at that moment. He wanted to hold the other and say he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. But that would be a lie because his time as an exchange student in France soon would be over and then what.

What would be of them. Were any of them willing to leave their country and their life there for the other? Besides, they couldn’t get along for longer than two hours in a good day it seemed at times so, would it even be worthy it?

Was it love or was it lust? Were them in love with each other or the Idea of Them?

And just as suddenly as before it was too much and Arthur had to look away. He couldn’t do this. He dare not. Overwhelmed, he pushed Francis hands back.

“Don’t. Please.” He closed his eyes. “Not today”

And he could feel the other’s heart breaking, but he couldn’t change his mind. He wouldn’t. He was too afraid of it all, the intensity of it all. Of the uncertainty of the maybes.

Still, they slept together that nigh.

“Make a wish, Arthur”, breathed Francis in his ear, tongue slow with sleepiness.

The Brit turned over to face his not-lover, brushing his hair behind his ear.

“Fine”, he agreed with a sight. As the other smiled slowly, softly, he smirked to himself “I wish that you see the light and shave that poor excuse of a beard already”.

 

\- (Happy New Year) -

Arthur was alone at home, technically watching BBC's cover of New Year’s party around the world and in London on the telly, but in reality almost falling asleep because: 1. It was terribly boring and; 2. He didn’t even like New Years commemorations anyway; when the doorbell ranged, waking the man up with a jump.

He looked at his wristwatch, still somewhat groggy from the nap, having to make a double take as he realized it was almost midnight. Who the hell would appear on his door step at such an hour, and at this date nonetheless, was beyond him, but he wasn't terribly happy about having his almost-nap disturbed.

Cursing under his breath, he walked towards the door, expecting to find some poor lost fellow who meant to spend the night at one of his neighbour’s house but ended on his by mistake. So what wasn't his surprise to find none other than his… Well, and what were them, exactly?

He opened the door to find Francis Bonmefoy holding a massive green blanket that looked terribly old. He would have recognized the thing anywhere.

“I’ve heard you’re not very found of fireworks, so I brought this… Just in case”. There was a lightness to the Frenchman’s voice that didn’t match the shifting of his body.

Arthur, on the other hand, became stiff as a rock himself.

“What are you doing here? What are you doing in London??”, the ‘we haven’t seen each other in over two years' went unspoken, but still hanged between them. There were so many questions stuck on the tip of his tongue. Why had the other never called, not even once? But then again, neither had he, so he supposed he didn’t have mush of a right to ask.

“I’ve found work in a nice restaurant near here, so I thought I’d come over”, he said in a casual tone, shrugging. But he was biting his lip and his hair was a mess and his eyes were looking into Arthur’s waiting for a reaction, yearning for one, full of fear but also hope and so, so much love, just like the Englishman remembered.

And then it hit Arthur that that was happening and it was big. He was there for stay, he thought, as his trembling hand reach out for the other’s shirt. He wasn’t going anywhere any more, the realization fulfilled him as he touched Francis’ face with his fingertips. His eyelids, his lips, his hair, as if to make sure he was real and not just a mirage designed to foll him with his deepest desires.

But he was there and he was real and they were laughing like madmen and crying a bit because after everything they had lived it all just felt that bit unreal.

And the holding turned to hugging for dear life, which turned into passionate, messy kissing, hands everywhere; exploring each other all over again.

“Aren’t you going to make a wish?”, asked Arthur when they laid side by side in the bed that night, legs intertwined and bodies finally exhausted, sore in all the right places.

“My wish has already come true, so I don’t need to, no”, was the answer, given with a certain air of smugness. Arthur knew from his tone that the other wanted him to ask why.

And as he felt pretty happy right then, he made an exception as to indulge the Frenchman.

“Oh, really?”, he asked, all sarcasm and not without scoffing “And what would it be, pray tell?”

“To be with you, of course!”, was the enthusiastic answer, followed by a Cheshire like smug grin. Arthur pushed his face away,though softly, while laughing.

“Oh my God, you’re such a sap! Get away from me. Is that how it’s going to be?”

Despite Arthur’s half hearted efforts to push him away, Francis just held him closer, and after putting up a fight (out of pride, mostly) the Brit gave in, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against his lover’s.

“You like it though, admit it Arthur”

“No, I absolutely do not”

They were both still laughing quietly, gentle smiles stamped on their faces.

“Je t'aime”

“… I know. I… I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr! I'm @aphport there <3


End file.
